


Dirge Eater

by Endthisfool



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Corpse Desecration, Crossover, Don’t copy to another site, Empurata, Gen, Gore, Mental Instability, Multi, Shenanigans, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whirl Being Whirl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17858111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endthisfool/pseuds/Endthisfool
Summary: Getting his claws on one of Brainstorm's untested inventions leads to Whirl being flung into an universe that isn't quite ready for someone like him. Back in Jasper, Nevada Team Prime is faced with the task of reeling in the wayward whirlybird, but it won't be pleasant ride for anyone.





	1. Death Bringer

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, I haven't published anything in a long time, and wrote this chapter in a day.

An iridescent tear eats at a storm ridden sky, bleeding the taste of a distant universe like an infection. Out it spits a being of that unknown, chaotic and ruthless. He doesn’t belong here. As if knowing that, the sky seems to rumble its distaste of the rapidly descending figure.  
  
Far below, a young boy by the name of Rafael Esquivel sits idly on the front steps of his school building. He’s content to wait outside for his friends, despite the swirling clouds above. However, a storm isn’t the only thing brewing over head, and it certainly isn’t the most worrisome. An odd sound reaches Raf’s ears. He looks about himself, furrowing his brows at the relatively empty area. It’s not empty for long.  
  
There’s a wicked crack of concrete as something _huge_ lands in an impact that lances through the ground, sending debris and dust flying outward from its epicenter.  
  
Cars wail their distress, joined by a smattering of shocked shouts. Raf’s up on his feet and down the rest of the steps before he can even process what he’s running toward. Due to his short stride, by the time he gets there there’s already a growing crowd of students, teachers, and passerby’s alike. They peter about uncertainly, low mummers of confusion drifting between them. Raf finds himself having to push past a woman taking pictures to get a closer look.  
  
The crater cuts a deep hole into the concrete, thin trails of black smoke whisking up from the crumpled heap of metal within. A sluggish flow of fluorescent pink liquid seeps from the mass. The scent of ozone lies thick in the air. His knees feel weak, a thrill races up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.  
  
The gangly mess of strange parts and twisted blue metal, rises up from its grave with a horrific spat of clattering. In turn the previously gawking crowd scatters haphazardly, screaming all the while. The source of their fear moves like an old windup toy missing a few gears. Jittering and loud. No longer an unidentifiable pile of scrap, the thing reveals itself to be some sort of mech. All thin plating and abnormal-near insect like limbs- it appears nothing like the Cybertronian’s on Earth. _‘Nothing like the autobots at least, this has to be a decepticon.’_ Worse, it had no face, just a telescopic-esq head and a single burning gold optic. It brings up an eerie recollection of the xenomorphs from _Alien_. Certainly not a pleasant comparison.  
The creature gives a small shake, then a full body shudder, its dented blue plating flaring wildly. It topples over.  
Its huge pair of pincers dig rivets into the concrete, and the air fills with that terrifying clattering once more. There comes the realization that it’s _cackling._  
  
Rafael backpedals, which is apparently the wrong thing to do because suddenly that big yellow optic is trained directly on him. He freezes, blood running cold in face of that spotlight-like gaze. His throat constricts, gulping audibly around the fear lodged there. Automatically the boy raises his hands-empty palms outward hovering over his chest-in a placating gesture. The mech lurches forward, pistons screeching, and brings up one claw to point straight between his eyes.  
  
“ _Ha!_ You look like Rung’s holomatter avatar had a baby with a gremlin.” Its optic contorts into a squint from what can only be unaltered glee, at the bewildered expression on the boy’s face. “Don’t take it personally, lotta you organics have that-“ There’s a vague gesture that spans the entirety of Raf’s person. “-nasty little flesh-bag look going on.”  
  
Raf’s mouth opens and closes, but he can’t seem to find any words. His awareness that he- and the entire human race- was just insulted only dimly registers considering the razor sharp claws only inches from his face.  
  
“No argument there, huh?” Those claws open and snap shut, clacking together, akin to a crab. Upon the resulting flinch from the human, they retreat back to supporting the mech’s frame. It regards him with a slightly more wary glint to its optic. “...Did I break you, Squishy? I told you not to take it personally, jeez.”  
  
The mech heaves itself upward once more, balancing precariously on its thin legs. Distantly Raf notes the school doors opening as people rush past him to safety.  
  
“ _Fun chat_ , but I’m gonna go.”  
  
It scratches idly at the jutting plating serving as its chest, dislodging some dirt there. In the process it uncovers a much too familiar emblem beneath the grime.  
Rafael blinks rapidly at the sight of it, shock blooming through his fear in some sort of messy tandem, giving way to conflict.  
  
“W-wait! You- you’re a,” Suddenly the blue mech crouches low as if readying to spring, giving Raf a clear view of the twin gun barrels under its chest. At that the blurted words die before they can become a coherent sentence.  
  
“I’m a _what_ ?” It challenges with the hum of its weapons. Danger evident in its tense frame. Raf squeaks, tripping onto his rear in his haste to put space between himself and those barrels. There’s a chuffing sound above, and it seems the mech is now laughing at his misfortune. He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, much too relieved to be free of the mech’s ire. However, despite the mood change the bot doesn’t relax from its crouch. The blades above its claws spin lazily, and it shutters its gold optic a few times. The sound of police sirens wail in the distance, apparently someone had half a mind to call the authorities on the giant robot. Not that that would do any good.  
  
“This was a real riveting experience, really, good times with my old pal, Squishy-Four-Eyes,” Mock sincerity coats the words in a growing dirge. Its blades- no _rotors_ begin to spin faster. “Sadly, I’ve got more important things to do, which would be literally anything else. So I’m gonna go do those things.”  
  
The mech uncoils from its crouch with enough force to launch itself upward into the air. Its frame contorts, folding mid-air to transform into something strikingly similar to an Earth helicopter. There’s a disconcerting whine to its engine, as if it’s protesting its injuries. Then it’s gone. Veering up and away without a speck of hesitation.  
  
Raf remains seated on the ground, even as frantic footsteps sound behind him. His friend Jack Darby nearly tumbles to the ground himself when he skids to a halt beside his younger friend. Their mutual friend Miko Nakadai, however, does trip, and plows straight into Jack. They land in a sprawled heap, but Raf pays them no heed. The older boy attempts to draw his attention with a cry of:  
  
“What was that!?”  
  
Mystified Rafael stares at the rapidly vanishing helicopter in the sky. “I think...it was an autobot.”  
  
A hand snatching his glasses off his face knocks him out of his stupor. “Hey-“  
  
“Hello? Are these working, Raf? That dude is flying, only ‘cons fly.” Miko points upward with the stolen glasses a bit more forcefully than needed. Miffed she hadn’t gotten to take a picture of the weird mech. “Autobots: roll out! That’s not rolling, that’s, like, the opposite of rolling. Bam. ‘Con. End of story.”  
  
“No I-,” He struggles to reach his glasses from the taller girl, and she relents returning them with a snort. “I saw it, he had an autobot symbol on.”  
  
Jack squints at him, sharing an incredulous glance with Miko. “Are you sure, Raf? That guy didn’t really seem like autobot material.”  
  
“Yeah, besides the whole flying thing, none of the autobots have big claws like that.” She mimics the mech’s claws snapping with her hands.  
  
Raf averts his gaze, gnawing at his lip. He doesn’t point out the fact that he had been mere feet away from the bot, whereas they had only managed to catch a glimpse of him from inside the school. He saw it, bright red on the mech’s cockpit, he’d recognize it anywhere. Nevertheless, he shrugs slightly, shaken up and adverse to continuing an argument with his friends.  
Miko seems to notice his dejection and gives him a pat on the back that’s only kinda condescending.

* * *

  
So _maybe_ ‘borrowing’ a few of Brainstorm’s inventions hadn’t been his best idea. Then again _maybe_ Brainstorm shouldn’t make his experiments look like guns, because of course Whirl would be obligated to shoot them. He couldn’t just, _not_ shoot them. Not shooting guns went against his morals. And well, _maybe_ if he hadn’t been shooting at random in an enclosed area he wouldn’t have accidentally shot himself.  
But that’s enough maybes for now. Result is he doesn’t know where he is, and he managed to get smashed up while landing. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Though usually he’d be getting yelled at by now. Strangely enough his comm hasn’t said a peep since he woke up. In a crater. Surrounded by squealing organics. _That_ was pretty weird.  
  
Whirl’s HUD blinks red, damage reports rolling across his vision groggily. _Urgent: primary energon line severed. Stabilizing gyros functioning at 65%. Spinal strut fractured. GPS System Offline. Energon levels lo-_  
He dismisses the alerts easily, they were no use to him, the level of first aid he was capable of performing with his claws was quite limited. His auto-repair would have to pick up the slack. Even so, leaking to death on a foreign planet wasn’t really the blaze of glory type ending he was looking for. So he needs to clamp off that energon line before he offlines. Simple enough for a pair of pincers.  
  
The landscape beneath him blends into an endless stream of indistinguishable shapes and colors. At this point he was fairly far from that organic settlement. The scenery below was now writhe with greenery.  
Proximity sensors ping a sudden alert. Whirl banks to the left, something bright whizzing past him into the clouds. He slows his flight, enough to detect the frames on the ground aiming at him. Outnumbered, he halts, hovering in place. They’re all dark colored mechs, near identical beyond a few variations. Behind them, similar looking mechs mill about the wide entrance of a mine. When they notice him they take hold of their carts, and retreat into the mine. A few return, training their weapons on him as well. Staring him down uncertainly one guard begins to shout.  
  
“Land a-and don’t move! Servos in the air!”  
  
The mech’s voice trembles slightly.  
He doesn’t give much thought to it. They shot first.  
  
Allowing his rotors to still in place, he drops out of the air like a dead seeker. Yelps of surprise and several attempts to shoot him follow. A blast glances off his chassis, but if the goal was to slow him down it does nothing. Whirl crashes down onto the mech that had spoken, transforming into his root mode during the impact.  
His frame is lightweight, but his momentum is more than enough to crumple the mech into the ground. The ‘copter’s HUD informs him of the consequences of using himself as a battering ram. As if the singeing pain didn’t make it obvious enough. He revels in it, all of it.  
  
The ruined frame under him shudders and sparks. Dark plating leaks blue over his claws in spurts while he works his grip onto weak neck cabling. The mech sputters feebly. A grotesque gurgling comes from his opponent, spinal strut following his helm free from his frame. Whirl straightens, towering over the graying mech. He holds the mech’s decapitated helm aloft between his claws, gleefully observing the fear take hold in the surrounding mechs.  
  
“I did what he asked, didn’t I?” He nails the nearest guard with the offlined mech’s helm, and they go down like a brick. Claws back in the air he gives them a wiggle to emphasize their position. “See? I can follow orders.”  
  
They don’t respond. Verbally at least, the sound of their blasters charging up is enough of an answer in itself.  
  
Whirl concedes,  
“OK, so three out of two isn’t bad, I mean, I had to move to get my servos in the air didn’t I?”  
  
They let their blasters do the talking once again, opening fire upon the autobot. He lets his own weapons join the conversation. Whirl heaves his offline opponent up to shield his taller frame, twin guns mowing down a row of mechs in front of him. They fall one after another, as if they weren’t built to last in a fight. _‘Kinda pathetic.’_  
Blaster fire licking at his chassis draws his attention to an unfortunate mech who tries to backpedal. The ‘copter forgoes his guns, bodily throwing himself at the shorter mech. He butts his helm against the other’s visor, shattering it, and carelessly damaging his own optic in the process. It doesn’t affect his pace. He latches on the dazed mech’s shoulders, and gives them a sharp tug. The intention was to tear his arms off, however his opponent ends up completely bisected lengthways. Whirl’s golden optic shutters in a surprised blink. Blue liquid soaks his cockpit, dribbling into his seams, mixing with the pink energon he leaked. The pincers holding the two halves of the other mech clench involuntarily. Something about this wasn’t quite right.  
  
His momentary pause gives the other mechs an opportunity to attack. Something in his leg gives way, the damaged armor there failing to protect it. The autobot turns on his attackers, confusion forgotten.  
  
“Is everyone on this dust bowl planet huge afts? Quit shooting me while I’m trying to think!”

* * *

  
  
“ _Prime!_ ” Disgruntled would perhaps be too weak a word to describe Agent Fowler’s demeanor right now. He’s furious, pacing up and down the walk way, his hands balled into fists. The addressed autobot regards him calmly, a slight frown on his handsome faceplate. His medic at the base’s computer terminal quirks an eyebrow ridge at the infuriated human. Leading Optimus to silently will the other to not say anything that would fuel the Agent’s bad mood. Thankfully Ratchet just snorts, resuming his work. Relieved the taller ‘bot patiently waits for the man to voice his complaints. It takes several more moments of huffing and puffing. Then Fowler finally halts his pacing, coming to stand in front of Optimus, his hands gripping at the railing. His glare is met with the autobot leader’s slightly confused, perhaps even concerned optics. For whatever reason this deepens the human’s scowl. “You wanna tell me what one of _your_ guys was doing prancing around a school in broad daylight!?”  
  
That garners Ratchet’s attention, and this time the medic turns from his terminal fully, crossing his arms over his chassis. Optimus sighs quietly through his vents.  
  
“Agent Fowler, I understand you are displeased with our presence here on Earth, however you have met all the autobot’s stationed on this planet.” Fowler glares harder, Prime presses on before the human could interrupt. “No one was patrolling in town today, in fact Bumblebee, Arcee, and Bulkhead have only left recently to pick up their charges.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Then how do you explain the huge robotic blue bozo my men have been working to scrub off the World Wide Web?” He jabs a finger at Optimus’ frowning faceplate. “Do you know how many phones we’ve had to confiscate? This is a huge mess, Prime! And I’m holding _you_ accountable.”  
  
Optimus opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of his comm crackling to life in his audial has him ignoring Fowler. The man sputters indignantly when the autobot holds up a servo to silence him. Over the comm Bee’s clicks and whirls sound off an excited babble.  
  
:: **_Raf says he met a new autobot at his school!_ ** ::  
  
Arcee’s voice joins the call,  
:: _Jack and Miko both say he_ didn’t.::  
  
Optimus considers the conflicting information, and gives the order to his soldiers to return to base with their charges promptly. Fowler stares at him expectantly.  
  
“It would appear that the children have some information on our unknown mech.”  
  
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? There’s a dangerous mech out there who clearly didn’t get the _robots in disguise_ memo!” Fowler bashes a fist against the railing, rattling it. “You can’t just let this guy go wandering through towns willy-nilly!”  
  
“Agent Fowler, I assure you once we take stock of the situation we won’t allow this mech to continue roaming in this manner.” Whether or not this mech was an autobot or not would really be the deciding factor in that. Neither a Decepticon or a Neutral would be all too willing to take orders from him. “Until then we will provide assistance in covering up this incident.”  
  
Fowler seethes.  
  
The screech of tires alerts the base’s occupants of the arrival of the remaining autobots. The young scout tears into the room, flashing his headlights. His charge can be heard laughing through the open windows. Arcee rolls up next, Bulkhead close behind.  
  
“Optimus!” Rafael peeks out Bee’s window, a faltering smile on his face. He glances toward his friends who’ve already crossed the base floor toward the couch. “I uh-“  
  
Bumblebee beeps encouragingly at his nervous charge, the boy responds with another weak smile, and exits the scout.  
  
Rafael describes what he encountered at his school. The injured blue mech he found in the crater. His crass personality, and strange appearance. The autobots tense when the boy mentions the mech’s lack of servos, lack of a _face_ . The tank churning signs of an empurata victim.  
  
“...then I think he called me ugly, or really just organics in general-“ Ratchet snorts. “-he got up to leave, and that’s when I saw the autobot symbol on his chest.”  
  
“Then he flew away!” Miko pipes up from the couch, Jack bobbing his head in a nod.  
  
Optimus doesn’t acknowledge the interruption, opting to lower himself closer to eye-level with Rafael. “Can you describe his alt mode for us?”  
  
Raf relaxes, clearly having been expecting some sort of dismissal. “It looked like some sort of helicopter...with a pair of big guns under its cockpit.”  
  
“I see,” There’s an uncomfortable niggling at the back of his processor. He raises to optics to address his team. “Do any of you recognize a mech of that description?”  
  
They each shake their helms, Raf’s expression falls, dismayed. Miko rolls her eyes.  
  
“Told you it wasn’t an autobot, autobots don’t fly.”  
  
Ratchet spares her a look,  
“There are fliers in the autobots, the aerialbots for one, it’s just not common.”  
  
Rafael perks up, nearing the medic. “You think this mech could be one of the aerialbots?” His big hopeful eyes has the gruff medic averting his gaze with a shrug.  
  
“If he is, I’ve never heard of him.”

* * *

  
A few more dents mar his frame, and a few more errors crowd his HUD. At some point his rotors began smoking, but they’d stop soon enough. Sticky blue energon covers his plating like a second coat of paint. Limping into another chamber of the mine Whirl subspaces another cube of that weird blue energon. Not what he was looking for. A quiet clank of metal far too soft to be his own, has him squinting in an imitation of a smile.  
  
“Peek-a-boo!”  
  
Pincers snap shut over his advisory’s leg, wrenching the mech from its hiding place, and onto the floor. It immediately begins begging, which was funny the first dozen times, but now Whirl’s over it.  
  
“Please, don’t kill me! I jus-just work the mines! I don’t-I dont-“  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
To emphasize his point the ‘copter lashes out with his claws, impaling the mech through its neck, and successfully destroying its vocoder. The mech writhes, grasping at the claw pinning it to the ground.  
  
“Ya know, I didn’t even realize you guys were ‘cons until I had already deactivated most of you.” That single golden optic burns uncaring holes into the helpless mech at his pedes. It’s void of any sort of empathy, just watching the other with the same level of detachment as a human regarding an ant. “I think Eyebrows would say that’s _concerning_ .”  
  
A sharp kick drives his pede into the miner’s abdominal plating. The mech curls inward on itself in silent pain.  
  
“He’d also ask me how I feel, or some slag like that. What about you, how are you feeling?” Whirl peers down at the miner, standing his other pede on top the other’s helm. He leans his weight into it, humming as the mech’s faceplate began to split. “Speechless huh? That good? You’re a weirdo.”  
  
“No judgement here, I’m not gonna tattle to anyone about what gets you revved,” Perhaps he presses too hard, because he finds his pede touching the floor, having gone straight through the mech’s helm. The crushed pieces of the miner’s brain module fizz against his pede forlornly. “Whoops. Guess you’re taking your kinks to the grave.”  
  
He yanks both his claws and his pede from the greying frame, losing his balance in the process. Whirl’s back hits the far wall with a painful crack. The blue mech allows himself to slide down to the floor as if strutless. His damage report begins to ping at him again, he dismisses it as usual, retrieving one of the blue energon cubes from his subspace. He eyes it thoughtfully with his single optic, turning it around in the mine’s dim lighting as if the angle would change it somehow.  
  
“You think this’ll give me some weird organic disease?” The cooling corpse remains considerably quiet. “Yeah, me too.”  
  
Whirl clinks the cube against the miner’s chassis then empties the entire cube into his intake. He doesn’t taste it, he hasn’t been able to taste anything in a long time. Nevertheless, he makes the sound of smacking lips he doesn’t have, along with a hum, as if contemplating the flavor. ‘Grinning’ down at the mech he nudges the cold frame with one of his sharp elbows.  
  
“Better than the sludge Swerve serves.”  
  
He laughs enough for both of them.


	2. Coward's Damnation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for the lovely reviews, I was shocked by all the positive feedback. Really made my day, I couldn't stop smiling. Hopefully you like this chapter as well, one of my favorite characters is in here :)

  
  
_Request: Status update._  
  
No response.  
  
_Requesting Report: Mining quadrant C location 6. Distress Signal: Acknowledged._  
  
Five klicks pass.  
  
No response.  
  
This would have to be dealt with.  
  
Dark slender digits remove themselves from their terminal, smoothly coming to rest at the sides of a pair of digitigrade legs. The slim mech turns to face the rest of the bridge, awaiting his leader’s attention. It’s currently preoccupied, vapidly so if Starscream’s...screaming meant anything. It seems Megatron was quite publicly dealing out punishment for another one of his second in command’s foolish assassination attempts.  
A large chunk of Starscream’s arm, including its mounted weapon, clatters against the TIC’s terminal. He stares at it reproachfully, then nudges it out of his work space with his pede. The scrape of it against the flooring is enough to garner his master’s focus. Frustration bleeds from the hulking con’s frame, and his mood shifts in an instant. He steps toward his TIC calmly, as if he hadn’t just been performing a brutal act of violence on one of his underlings mere moments ago.  
  
“Soundwave, what do you have to report of the energon mines statuses?” Megatron comes to rest a few feet away, respectful of the silent mech’s space. In turn the spymaster flickers on his visor, concisely displaying the current issue of the quadrant C mine. A frown graces his leader’s faceplate, then something cunning flashes in his burning optics. Soundwave had no need to to dip into his processor to sense the plan he was concocting, though for whatever reason something in his tanks gave a sharp twist.  
“A distress signal, hm?”  
  
The silver mech looks over his shoulder, down at the sulking form of his SIC. He smirks ever so slightly, in a way that would normally bring about a content thrum of the spy’s core.  
  
“Looks like we’ll have to send someone to investigate, won’t we?”

* * *

  
  
This was wholly beneath a mech of his caliber. Completely. Disgustingly so. He could still see Megatron’s stupidly smug grin as he gave him the preposterous order to take a squad of vehicons and inspect the mine failing to respond. Like _he_ was needed for something as mundane as that! Idiot drones probably just broke their comm equipment.  
  
Starscream huffs, kicking a rock into the area below. It clatters against metal, loud against the odd silence. A mine of all places shouldn’t be silent, but if this mine was doing what it was suppose to then he wouldn’t have been ordered here. At least being here meant he wasn’t having to tolerate that tyrant, and his mute lapdog.  
The vehicons mill about behind him, awaiting orders. He draws out the wait, inspecting his claws primly, and resolutely refusing to acknowledge the ruined plating of his arms. The dumb warlord didn’t even let him replace his weapons before he was sent off.  
  
“What are you waiting for?” Starscream hisses at the drones, shooing them toward the edge of the clearing, where the mine lay below. “Go on, inspect.”  
  
They peer down the crevasse, but make no move to go any further. The seeker kicks a cloud of dirt at them impatiently. One vehicon swivels around to face him a bit frantically.  
  
“Uh, sir? The guards they’re...” It trails off nervously.  
  
Starscream groans at their incompetence, marching forth and pushing them aside. The reason for the mine’s silence becoming quite clear.  
  
There’s no-one there. Not a single guard nor miner working below. It’s feverishly still. Drag marks paint the earth in splattered blue trails, each leading straight into the mine’s gaping maw. His instincts screech at him to flee, just to fly back to the _Nemesis_ and face whatever punishment Megatron had in store for him. But he doesn’t. Haughty pride taking precedence over that lingering fear, he would not be cowed by a task for drones.  
  
With a dismissive flick of his wings he drops into the crevasse, the vehicons obediently following his lead. He nears the mine’s entrance, unease trickling down his spinal strut. Planting himself in front of it he waves the drones ahead. “Go on.”  
  
The squad shares uncertain looks amongst themselves, but nevertheless obey. They drag their pedes as if in line for a firing squad, all tense frames and shaking plating. Then they’re gone, consumed by the depths of the mine, far into that simmering darkness of endless tunnels. Starscream is left alone at the entrance, silence baring its teeth in sharp droves.  
Time takes its pleasure in passing impossibly slowly.  
By all means the vehicons should have returned long before now. So with little choice to the contrary, Starscream enters the mine.  
  
Inside the air is stagnant with the overpowering reek of energon. It fluffs his plating in an unconscious effort to appear larger. At first he sees bits of wires, and plating littered about like garbage. However the volume of gore increases as he ventures further into the mine, becoming severed limbs, and pools of congealing energon. Nervously slipping past the drone parts, the seeker spots one of his squad idling halfway around the next corner.  
  
Starscream masks his relief with ire.“What’s taking you imbeciles so long!?” He stomps toward the vehicon into a much larger cavern of the mine. Unfortunately the vehicon can’t respond, seeing as it’s just a corpse skewered to the wall by one its own arm. The remnants of the rest of his squad are scattered about the room. A few aren’t entirely dead yet, greying frames twitching periodically. One reaches out for help, grasping feebly at his pedes. The pathetic gurgle of its fluid filled vents splashes energon around the remains of its dismembered frame. Purely on habit he kicks the dying drone away from himself, the racket of metal on metal blaring throughout the space. The drone’s heaving attempts at venting end, and the entire cavern is blanketed in an eerie hush. Something from the depths of the mine scrapes out its discontent across the rocks. He should leave now, clearly this operation had failed, there was nothing but spare parts here now. The scraping sound continues. His whole frame feels like it’s been dipped in ice, he can’t seem to get his pedes working. One of the entrances to the cavern bleeds another loud scrape, sending a shudder through the seeker’s plating. Whatever killed the vehicons hadn’t left.  
Dread curdles in his tanks like an infectious disease. He waits frozen in place as if being still would stave off his fate.  
  
A shambling blue monster rounds the corner, dragging the mutilated corpse of a miner with a crushed helm. Macabre golden light is cast in his direction, and the creature halts. It drops the body from its huge pincers with a muted thunk that echos ominously throughout the tunnels. Claws twitch haphazardly in an aborted motion, as if trying to grasp something from the air. A gaping hole in its abdomen drains pink down its gangly legs. It chuckles.  
  
Spark beating wildly in his chassis Starscream tries to retreat backward, reaching blindly behind himself for an exit. His servos skitter uselessly against the damning cold metal of a drill. His frantic movements provokes the creature into motion, and it’s on him in an instant. Its mechanoid body slams into him like a dead-weight, toppling him over onto the ground whilst it manages to catch itself on the wall.  
It staggers from its excessive momentum, ripping a shard of metal from its body and lunging forward. Desperately scrabbling away, Starscream manages to get out of the way when the creature stabs the shard deep into the flooring where he had been. It rears back to its pedes, leaving its makeshift weapon in the earth, and stalks toward him. Something stark red on its chassis stands out in the dim light of its optic valiantly. On most days Starscream would groan at the sight of it, but now floods him with relief. Because _this_ monster was an autobot, and unlike decepticons autobots can be appealed to via their foolish moral codes. Megatron’s second in command holds his servos up in surrender.  
  
“Wait wait, I’m unarmed!” Starscream displays the ragged holes where his mounted weapons once were on his arms. “I’m helpless, I surrender.”  
  
“Cool.” The sound of those twin guns warming up might as well be deafening. Starscream gapes at the unexpected reaction, his silver-tongue faltering.  
  
“B-but you’re an autobot, you’re not suppose to shoot unarmed mechs!”  
  
“Yeah but, who’s here to enforce that dumb rule?”  
  
Starscream sputters. “Optimus Prime!? _Your leader_ !”  
  
The name drop earns a blank stare and a cocked helm. “Is he here? On Earth? This is Earth right? Looks sorta like Swerve’s fantasy of it. Much less exciting. I miss the _laugh track_ .” He pauses, as if expecting something, then gives his leaking frame a disappointed shake. The blue mech continues speaking as if he had never stopped. “Anyway, I was kinda hoping Prime died sacrificing himself to save some scraplets, or something equally heroically idiotic.”  
  
It’s safe to say Starscream is dumbfounded by the other mech’s causal death wish on the Prime.

  
“Are...you sure you’re an autobot?” He’s given an intimate view down the barrels of those twin guns, and hastily tries a different tactic. “No wait! Spare me, I can give you anything you want! Anything!”  
  
“Anything...?”

At that the bot tilts his helm in the other direction, sizing up the decepticon with his off putting gaze. Uncharacteristically the seeker finds himself without words, just waiting. The two fliers linger in a tense lull. It crawls past in an agonizing drawl of seconds, unblinking. Unbidden the blue mech’s frame sags as if releasing a deep sigh, his gaze flickering to himself for a moment. He no longer appears as threatening-despite the dried energon all over his frame-just tired. It’s enough of a reaction to brew confidence back into the silver mech’s lines. So he pulls himself back up to his pedes carefully, mentally preparing a speech about the benefits of a partnership. Further assurance comes in the form of a dirty claw dropping onto his shoulder lightly, giving it a companionable squeeze. Starscream fights the urge to slap it away. _‘With this dangerous of a monster on my side I’ll be unstoppable.’_ He puts on a winning grin, preening internally over his ability to turn a bad situation in his favor. That friendly touch on his shoulder tightens near imperceptibly, and he thinks the mech is trying to smile back.  
  
“...No you can’t. So, I’m kinda just going to kill you a little.”  
  
Shock works like a catalyst, sending his emotions skipping straight over fear into anger. Who was this buffoon, to deny his capabilities and threaten him in the same breath? The seeker’s wings hike high up on his back, and he doesn’t quite resist the urge to stomp his pede.  
  
“Do you know who I am!?” He sneers at the other’s faceless helm, drawing himself up tall and prideful. “I am the great Starscream, and I will not be put down like an unruly turbo-fox!”  
  
If the strange mech is affected by the outburst he doesn’t show it. “Uh, no?” The words come bluntly, but feel like they’re being spat into his faceplate. “Pretty sure that slagger is livin’ it up on Cybertron. I know a lotta people think I’m dumb, but pal, you don’t even look like him.”  
  
“What!? How dare you! I am the one and _only_ Starsc- _uRK_ !”  
  
Wrenched forward painfully, the claws on his shoulder are joined by a twin pair around his throat. They squeeze tightly, biting into cabling and lifting him into the air.  
  
“Get a load of this guy,” The autobot jeers, addressing the nearby corpse as one would a partner in crime. Close proximity has the curling smoke from his rotors clogging into Starscream’s intakes. Likely on purpose. “Thinks he can pretend to be Ol’ Screamer just by having a _really_ annoying voice.”  
  
The cavern becomes a tumbling blurr, and it takes a moment for it to register that he had been thrown. Metal protests in vehement screeches as he lands slam into the control panel of a parked drill. It surges to life. Lurching on its treads it races forward uncontrollably. Starscream squawks, bouncing off the drill’s platform when it collides with something far too fast. The cavern trembles. Several large rocks break loose from the ceiling, shattering against the ground. The blue mech releases a startled yelp, falling over onto his skid plate as the ground shifts beneath them.  
  
“Was that thing important?” From the floor the jet looks up, following the outstretched claw to see the chamber’s main support beam come crashing down. He blanches and the blue mech takes it as confirmation, spilling into a clumsy transformation. He shifts into a rotorcraft, and takes to the air, narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath a falling boulder. He moves with an unprecedented agility for a mech that had appeared previously injured, and clearly has no qualms about abandoning his quarry in the failing mine. The jet screeches, taking flight as well to avoid being entombed in the chamber.  
Alone now, the grey corpses remain as they were, blissfully unaware of the chaos around them.

* * *

  
Maybe the blue energon wasn’t agreeing with his tanks, or maybe it was the boulders that had nicked him several times over. Either way this tree was holding up his weight rather well. Having crashed into it several klicks ago after his harrowing escape from the mine, Whirl reasoned he could simply climb down in his root mode. However transforming had left him tangled in the branches, too sluggish from his injuries to tear himself out. His HUD blinks a torrent of red throughout his vision, refusing its dismissal.  
  
_Urgent: primary energon line severed. Energon levels approaching critical._ Oh, he had forgotten to deal with that. _Stabilizing gyros functioning at 43%. Spinal strut severely fractured. GPS System Offline. Core temperature overheating. Abdominal plating ruptured, foreign object located. Left leg severely damaged-_  
  
He ignores the rest of the report constructing a tide of errors across his HUD. A smoldering branch makes a nice pillow for his helm, another finds a cozy home through his stomach. Pink energon seeps down the tree’s bark in fanciful rivers. Whirl wonders how fast it’ll all go up if he inched a bit closer with his sparking wires.

* * *

  
The autobots had pinned down an unfamiliar energy signature coming from this area, and were fairly confident it was the reported mystery mech. However, actually locating the mech was proving difficult in the dense woods.  
  
Bulkhead skirts between the thick trunks of two trees, Bee beeping a negative for the area he was searching in his comm. They hadn’t been out here for too long, though if the mech wanted to avoid them he’d likely have heard Bulkhead’s lumbering and booked it awhile ago. Part of him thinks it would be better that way, he’d rather be back at base, he and Miko had plans later. A particularly bendy branch snaps back into his faceplate, and he groans in frustration.  
  
“ _Hey_ !” A young voice breaks his train of thought, and for a moment he thinks Miko had hijacked the comms. “Big, green, and bulbous, over here!”  
  
He looks down, and deeper within the woods stands a human. It’s a little girl, younger than Miko maybe Raf’s age, with a pair of blue pigtails. He notes the eyepatch crossing her face briefly, confusion overriding the fact that he had just been seen by an unknown human. The girl’s face splits in an too wide grin, then she brings her hands up to the sides of her head and blows a raspberry at him. Whirling around the child races off with a high pitched laugh. With the knowledge that human younglings don’t belong in the wilderness, Bulkhead follows the girl, albeit at a slower pace.  
She leads him to a large tree that’s been partially uprooted and stands at its base, grinning as he makes his way into the clearing carefully. The girl doesn’t say anything and neither does the autobot, already pinging Bumblebee to get in contact with Fowler about any missing children. Suddenly she points upward, and he follows her gesture up the trunk of the massive tree to the sight of a twisted mass of blue metal staring down at him.  
  
He’s several different shades of blue, one of which he realizes isn’t paint. One of his legs is twisted strangely, the thin plating bent much too far. The mech is impaled through his abdomen, though the hole was likely created by something else then further exasperated by the branch fitted through it. Exposed wires spit sparks haphazardly from his frame. Pink liquid dribbles down the bark of the tree, a strange contrast against all the blue. It’s a sickening sight.  
  
Bulkhead rips his gaze back downward to tell the girl to move, it wasn’t safe under that tree, but she’s already gone. Regretfully he doesn’t have time for another chase through the woods, so he hopes she’ll be okay for awhile longer.  
  
Bulkhead reports his finding back to base, and a groundbridge swirls to life in the clearing a few moments later as he’s breaking branches to pull the mech from the tree. Ratchet as well as Optimus exit the bridge, and set to work untangling the blue mech.  
  
“He’s in stasis lock,” The medic reports grimly once the rotormech is laid out on the ground. He hovers his servos over the mech uncertainly, faceplate pulled into a frown. “I’m not familiar with this frame-type...”  
  
“Is he going to...?” Bulkhead wisely doesn’t finish his question, earning a scathing glare from the red and white mech.  
  
“I can fix him!” Ratchet says, tone clipped, but then his expression grows worried, and he looks to Optimus. “He’s critically injured though, and couple that with the fact that I don’t recognize his frame-type, I can’t do this without my medbay.”  
  
Taking an unknown mech back to their home base was beyond risky, they all knew that. But they also knew there was no way Optimus would stand by and let someone die. The bright red autobot emblem on the blue mech’s cockpit had nothing to do with it.  
  
Optimus nods solemnly, gathering the injured blue mech into his arms, and carrying him with gentle steps into the groundbridge.  
  
Back at the base, despite their protests the humans are sent to their homes immediately. Autobot or not, an unknown mech wasn’t safe for them to be around.  
  
At Fowler’s behest a human search party is sent to the area where Bulkhead saw the little girl, and they find nothing. Not a trace, like she didn’t even exist.

* * *

  
  
Maybe he feels a little responsible for the weird mech he found, or perhaps Miko’s suspicion is rubbing off on him, but something in the back of his processor remains apprehensive about the bot being left alone and unrestrained. A little guilt rises up when he thinks back to those various dents and scratches on the fragile looking bot. Nevertheless, Bulkhead can’t help but feel the need to check-in on the mech they rescued yesterday.  
  
He enters the medbay as quietly as someone of his size can.  
The area is silent, save for the eerie monotone drone of flatlining spark monitor. There’s a little pool of pink liquid smeared over the berth which is considerably empty of injured blue mechs. Unease builds in a crescendo. Hydraulics hiss softly. He turns in search of the noise, calling out into the thick hush.  
  
“Uh, hello?”  
  
A weight suddenly crashes down on Bulkhead’s back and his vision is obscured, he staggers blindly into a nearby table its contents clattering onto the floor. Pain blooms around his faceplate and he realizes whatever is latched onto his back has _claws_. Claws that are currently scrabbling at his optics.  
  
“Just mixing things up, been going for the throat a lot lately,” A cheery voice explains helpfully, right into his audial. “Don’t want anyone thinking they can get off callin’ me predictable.”  
  
Pointed prongs hold his helm in place, preventing him from getting a glimpse of their owner. He grunts, a lance of hot pain striking him as the glass of one of his optics is cracked. Sharp claws jostle against his faceplate, messily trying for an entrance into his optic’s socket. Reaching around himself proves fruitless, his arms too short, and his adversary easily avoiding his grasp. He flails, but despite the mech’s light weight he can’t shake him off, ending up with those claws digging into his faceplate painfully. It doesn’t leave him with many options. Bulkhead stumbles backward and slams his back into a wall. There’s a sickening crunch. A strange keen peters off into a laugh, then something fierce rakes itself down his backstrut. Reacting to the pain Bulkhead smashes his attacker into the wall again, and again. The grip on his helm loosens on the fourth clash. With a grunt he manages to grab ahold of the pincers on his faceplate and _pull._ The mech follows, tumbling over his shoulder and onto the floor with a loud thud. Undaunted he shifts as if preparing to launch himself at the green mech again, but then swivels his faceless helm toward the entrance and falls limp against the ground.  
  
“Bulkhead! What are you doing!? I just finished repairing him!” Ratchet enters the medbay in response to the commotion, none to pleased with what he sees. The white and red medic fumes, optics flashing over the mess. “And my tools!? I needed those!”  
  
“ _Yeah Bulky_ ,” Croons the rabid blue mech, looking far too comfortable from where he was still sprawled out on the floor. “What’s your problem?”  
  
“He attacked me!” Bulkhead protests, motioning helplessly to the leaking blue mech. Ratchet is unimpressed.  
  
“He’s been in stasis lock since we brought him here, I strongly doubt he’s capable of inflicting any real damage to you in his current state.”  
  
Ratchet makes his way over to the prone mech, casting a scan over his frame to inspect him for any new injuries. The blue mech seems to take that as permission to rear up and throw one of his arms around the medic’s shoulders, causing Ratchet to stumble halfway to his knees. Alarmed Bulkhead steps forward to pry the ‘copter off, but a glare from the medic stops him. Ratchet doesn’t try to escape the grasp, clearly assuming the mech simply needed help getting up on his pedes. However, when he attempts to pull his patient upward the mech resists, yanking downward instead in an impressive show of strength that leaves the medic kneeling beside him. Ratchet scowls, iconic temper flaring at the blue mech’s antics. “Quit that, I’m trying to assist you.”  
  
“Assist me? How about you start by tellin’ me where I know you from,” He’s leaning into Ratchet now, seemingly oblivious to the medic’s grimace. A single claw gives the old mech’s red chevron a flick. “You’re awfully familiar, and it isn’t just your _shining_ personality.”  
  
Ratchet scowls further, and swats the prodding claw away from his chevron. “I’ve never met you before, I think I’d remember something that unpleasant.”  
  
In response the mech gasps theatrically, the sound in contrast with the joyful squint of his optic. Whatever nonsense he’s about to say next is thankfully stopped by the presence of another bot entering the room.  
  
Optimus Prime gives the occupants a look over, raising an eyebrow ridge at the two mechs on the floor. Embarrassed the medic stands up quickly, allowing his patient to spill back onto the floor with an undignified yelp.  
  
“Greetings,” Prime offers the mech a servo which is rudely ignored by the mech who rolls over onto his side instead, his back facing Optimus. He returns his servo to his side, sending his autobots a questioning glance and getting a pair of shrugs in return. “Welcome to Earth, I am Optimus Prime, the leader of the autobots. We found you in critical condition and brought you to our base for treatment. I understand you may be confus-“  
  
“You here to arrest me again?”  
  
“Arrest you? No...I dont-“ He’s cut off again, now by the blue mech clambering up to his pedes. It looks painful, but he shows no signs of discomfort as he steps toward Optimus, plating creaking.  
  
“You’ve gotten shorter,” He comments, sounding almost awed. To his surprise and somewhat childish chagrin, Prime finds himself at equal optic-level with a mech that wasn’t in the process of shooting a fusion cannon at him. The rotormech appears to find some mirth in this, standing at the tips of his pedes to gain some more height on the autobot. “I like you better this way.”  
  
For diplomacy’s sake Optimus decides to ignore the claw that hovers over their helms, comparing their heights. He also ignores the fact that the other mech is several inches taller when he’s standing straight. Optimus clears his throat, a habit most of his team has picked up from the humans.  
  
“It would help us if you could provide us with your designation,” Perhaps they could find something about this strange mech in their database. Doubtful considering they didn’t have the same resources here as they did on Cybertron, nevertheless it was still important to figure out this mech’s identity. “As well as where you hail from.”  
  
The blue mech’s response is a bit unexpected, though it seemed unexpected was his forte.  
  
“You don’t remember me?” His singular gold optic is blown wide, and his blue plating ruffles about his protoform in a wave. “At all? Zero? Zip? Zilch? Nada?”  
  
Something unpleasant churns in his tanks at the reaction.  
  
“My apologies, I don’t believe we’ve met before no.” Optimus attempts a placating tilt of his helm. There was little doubt that one could easily forget this mech. That wouldn’t stop the other from perceiving his lack of recognition as an insult. Thankfully he isn’t offended, though the gleeful shine to his yellow optic is disconcerting.  
  
“In that case my name is Cyclonus of _Whereeverthefrag_ .” He leans in and clicks the tips of his pincers together mischievously. “I enjoy brooding and threatening hugs.”  
  
“You’re from _where_ ?” Ratchet cuts in, crossing his arms over his chassis. The faceless mech contorts himself awkwardly to address him, instead of simply turning around.  
  
“ _Wherewhatsitslag_ .”  
  
“Uh-huh. For some reason I don’t believe you.”  
  
“Rude. _Wherewhothescrap_ may not be as fancy as Iacon, but it’s still home.”  
  
“No, that place doesn’t exist and you’re not Cyclonus.”  
  
The blue mech narrows his yellow optic with a huff. “Always the buzzkill huh, Doc-bot?” Not-Cyclonus uncontorts himself to face Optimus and strikes a pose. “The names Whirl. Don’t wear it out, or better yet don’t use it at all, you can call me ShootyMcFragU.”  
  
Optimus blinks.  
“...Whirl, if you’re feeling well enough, I’d like to discuss your options now that you’re here on Earth.” Further questioning would have to wait, he needed to establish some sort of framework before he accidentally set him off. Sadly, empurata victims were known for being unstable. “As of now we have been unable to confirm your status as an autobot. We’ll require you to answer some questions pertaining to that-“ Whirl’s rotors begin to spin. “ _-later_ . If you do not wish to partake in that you’ll be reclassified as a neutral. For now though, I insist you stay on base.”  
  
Whirl’s single gold optic flickers wide, and he cocks his helm slowly, looking all too similar to the Earth creature known as an owl. In turn Optimus tenses slightly, watching the other carefully.  
  
“Wow. Why even say options when it all boils down to being grounded like a sparkling?”  
  
“I know this situation is unfavorable, however we have a duty to this planet and its inhabitants. I cannot allow you to roam unrestricted, until you are both understanding and willing to carry out that duty.”  
  
“I’ll have you know I don’t understand many things, and I do duties all the time.” Whirl retorts, claws on his narrow hips.  
  
Ratchet drags a servo down his faceplate with a long suffering sigh. “Optimus, we can’t just let him stay here, what if he’s a Decepticon spy?”  
  
Whirl’s plating flares, but instead of lashing out at the medic as Prime feared he just stares.  
  
“Yeah, he tried to rip out my optics!” Bulkhead chimes in, pointing an accusing digit at the rotormech. Indeed his faceplate did look as if a turbo-fox had been scratching at his optics.  
  
“ _Still_ mad about that?”  
  
“It happened like five nanosecs ago!”  
  
“If you didn’t want to be twins you could have just said so,” Whirl looms over the other mech, forcing Bulkhead to bend back uncomfortably. “You probably couldn’t pull off the one optic look _nearly_ as well as me though.”  
  
Prime steps in between the two, separating them without actually touching the blue mech. His knowledge of empurata victims now felt like it was woefully lacking, but he knew better than to grab at Whirl’s claws.  
  
“Enough. Where Whirl’s loyalties lie is a discussion for _later_ .” Optimus stresses the last word, giving his autobots a pointed look. If they really wanted to do a full blown interrogation right now, it wouldn’t end well for any of them. They knew better than that. He returns his focus to Whirl who seems to be enjoying the autobots’s scolding. “I must ask you to refrain from attacking anyone.”  
  
Whirl’s entire frame recoils with disgust, then he falls into a  deceptively lazy slouch. His burning optic regards Optimus with an odd glint, and Optimus dearly hopes he isn’t planning something. It’d been a long time since he had to deal with anyone completely unknown and unpredictable like this. Earth had certainly brought about it’s fair share of surprises, but this was something else entirely. While he was sure they had the advantage here he wasn’t keen on finding out what kind of damage Whirl could inflict when he was cornered. If the dried energon he had previously been covered in meant anything, it was probably a lot.  
  
“ _Anyone_ is a bit of a broad term, can you pick something else? Like: don’t punch anyone yay high-“ Whirl gestures to about seven feet off the ground. “-or like shooting yes, stabbing no. I dunno, limiting my violence gives me the icks.”  
  
“...I see.”  
  
Part of him wonders if he should have expected this from a mech whose first words to him was to ask if he was getting arrested _again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Whirl eviscerated Starscream in the first draft of this chapter.


	3. Realization Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whirl has a nice friendly chat with his pals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy Folks!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, life comes at ya fast. And by life I mean fun shit like my mother got engaged and now is getting married on the 30th, midterms, and even better I started collecting transformers. 
> 
> Anywho! For those of you reading my other fics, I'll be alternating between updating Dirge Eater and Benign Corruption hopefully every week? Who knows! That's what I'm gonna attempt though! Love y'all!

  
In a universe bound by artificial whims to another, a mech freezes in a doorway, blinking rapidly. While living on this ship they had seen their fair share of wild and unbelievable things. Parallel universes, zombie mechs, etc. So perhaps this could actually be considered one of the more mundane things, though nevertheless unexpected.   
  
It sears iridescent tendrils from its center, clawing at shelves, and humming with energy. Below a strange contraption, blaster-esq in its build, lays forlornly on the floor, abandoned by its user.   
  
_‘There’s a portal in this storage closet.’_   
  
Lip-plates pressed in a thin line the mech shuts the door, turns on their heel, and walks away. Someone else ought to take care of that. 

* * *

  
At the other side of that universal link, Rafael paces the meager portion of his school’s sidewalk that wasn’t taped off for repairs. His mind abuzz with thoughts of the newcomer back at the autobot base. It wasn’t everyday that you got to meet a giant alien robot, and while he already knew _several,_ this was still a nerve wracking experience. The new mech was different, not only in his frame, but in some other way. It was like the thought wasn’t entirely tangible, he just couldn’t grasp it yet. What could possibly make this mech feel so much more foreign than any of the other cybertronians? Lost in that puzzle as he is, he almost misses it.   
  
A familiar flash of blue. Raf double-takes.   
  
It's a little girl, dressed in overalls, one of the straps hangs loosely off her shoulder, folding the denim’s front over itself sloppily. A black eyepatch stretches over one eye, and blue hair drawn up in high pigtails curls down from the sides of her head. It seemed Miko wasn’t the only person around here with an _interesting_ sense of fashion.   
  
Oddly enough, she’s behind the barriers that the police had used to block off the mech’s impact crater, her hands on her hips, looking none too concerned by the drop in front of her. She definitely shouldn’t be in there. With no adults in sight Raf takes it upon himself to watch out for the girl.   
  
“Hey, I don’t think you should be on that side of the barriers.” He tells her, not unkindly. It wasn’t his place to question what a young looking kid was doing at a school like this, but really, where were her parents? “You could get hurt.”   
  
In response the little girl-she couldn’t have been any older than ten-leans further over the hole tapping her chin as if deep in thought.   
  
“I’m investigating.” She says loudly, her voice accented with something peculiar. Almost synthesized. The sound reminded him of something, though he couldn’t quite discern what it was. She scuffs a red shoe against the ground, sending a rocking tumbling down into the crater. Then she bends back at a painful looking angle, craning her neck to peer upward into the sky, one hand positioned over her yellow eye to shield it from the sun. Squinting she works her jaw, pressing her tongue into a gap between her teeth. The clouds stare back, sharing nothing. “Ok, I’m done.”   
  
“That was quick.” Raf comments, casting a glance toward the school building where Miko was now waving him down from the doors. Jack exits as well, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder, and gesturing with his head to the road. There Arcee rolls to a stop, her holographic rider still as ever. Raf gives them each a smile, that wavers when he remembers his present company. He turns to the girl. “But really it’s not safe over there...”   
  
Rafael blinks, a dipping sensation turning his stomach. He stumbles forward, slipping under the barriers to reach the crater where the little girl must have fallen, scraped and bruised at the bottom. At the edge he prepares to climb down, a call for help stifled at the back of his throat. Then he stops. Confusion bats at his stuttering heart mockingly.   
  
“What’re we lookin’ at?” Miko pushes past the barriers, joining her friend in crouching over the steep drop of the empty crater. “Ooh rocks.”   
  
She nudges Raf with her elbow, careful to not push him toward the hole.   
  
“Very cool, but I think you should stick to computers.”   
  
Raf spays his palms out helplessly presenting the lack of anything in the crater below. Could she really have run off that fast?   
  
“Come on guys, Bulkhead isn’t going to wait for you two forever.” Beyond them Jack situates his helmet over his black hair, the green vehicle rumbling its engine from where it had pulled up moments before. “I thought you’d be more excited to see that helicopter bot than the hole he came from.”   
  
“Oh yeah!” Miko bounces up, pulling Raf up and away with her. Raf lets her drag him to Bulkhead’s waiting doors, his mind flitting between one strange encounter with blue to the next. 

* * *

  
The appearance of the wild rotormech seemed to be a catalyst for a surplus of work for the autobot medic. That was not to say he wasn’t usually busy, however his work didn’t normally include investigating rowdy cyclopses claiming to be autobots. Especially rowdy cyclopses that leaked _pink_ energon, and were intent on staring holes into his armor from the medberth.   
  
Ratchet rolls his shoulder pauldrons uncomfortably, as if he could dislodge the other’s gaze through the movement alone. He doesn’t turn from the computer terminal to address the mech, too focused on the strange energy reading creating a flux over the system’s scanners. Those readings had been popping up haphazardly the past couple days, but he couldn’t pinpoint a source at all. Nor could he parse them out, though they were awfully familiar.   
  
“You’re free to go, Optimus is likely waiting for you.” There was too much to do, and he still hadn’t been able to find any connection between their guest and the autobots. Not to mention the aerialbots. Or really anything at all in what was left of the autobot’s database. Not a single recorded encounter with a mech that matched his description over the course of the war. It was like he just didn’t exist. “Try not to re-open those welds.”  
  
There’s a soft shifting of metal as the blue mech slips off the berth, quiet enough that the medic nearly didn’t hear it. Then Whirl brushes past him, sliding blue armor against white just a bit too long, a bit too roughly, and there’s a hushed phrase ghosting over the medic’s audial. _“Thanks, Ratchet.”_   
  
Distracted as he is the medibot gives a noncommittal grunt in return. An itch in the back of his processor throwing up red flags that there was something very wrong with what he just heard. Unconsciously his plating shutters tight against his frame.   
  
And to think their guest had only been awake for a few hours. 

* * *

  
Whirl was like an unexploded minefield buried under centuries of broken glass and smoldering debris. A single step made to avoid that cutting glass could very well end up setting him off, but leaving him to fester would only put many others in danger. Whether or not he could be trusted remained to be seen, though with the lack of an actual brig they would have to resort to different methods to keep him under some semblance of their control. Usually when dealing with an unknown mech like this it is protocol to use restraints or sedation. However, the thought of restraining an empurata victim made his tanks churn unpleasantly. It felt horrendously cruel. Though in retrospect Optimus doubted they had any restraints that were truly _capable_ of holding the mech, even if they did it wasn’t likely worth the fallout. Not to mention their medic’s lack of knowledge on Whirl’s frame-type meant an attempt at sedation could very well harm the rotormech. Their current circumstances were far from ideal.   
  
Thus, the decision had been made to watch Whirl in shifts. It was agreed on that he couldn’t be left alone, especially not while there were humans frequenting the base. (The humans couldn’t simply stay at their respective homes, not while the decepticons knew of them.) As time goes on he knows the team will have to have more in-depth discussions on handling their guest, that is after they begin gleaning more information about him. He’ll need to be kept under careful supervision until they could figure out his true allegiance. If it turns out Whirl is indeed an autobot, well, it’s safe to say Optimus was _curious_ about the mindset of whoever recruited Whirl. As of now he couldn’t bring himself to fully believe the rotormech was a decepticon spy; perhaps he was a neutral that had converted toward the fall of Cybertron? Being driven to pick a side while their world was ravaged would explain his level of malice and disrespect. Therefore, the idea of him becoming a permanent fixture on the team was not something exactly fathomable at the moment. At the least, having him here meant they could limit the havoc he could inflict on this planet, and Optimus was glad for that.   
  
The mech currently clouding Optimus’s processor limps into the room, fresh mesh patches littering his unconventionally proportioned frame. He stretches languidly, the smooth moment ignorant of the pain he should be in, as well as the nearby screen that becomes impaled on one of the long protrusions from his shoulders. The monitor sends out a shower of sparks and glass, that is exacerbated by Whirl’s attempts in dislodging himself. Soon the monitor is torn from its mount and flung onto the floor with a loud crunch. Whirl seems to consider the broken screen for a moment before he resumes his stretching, none too discretely pushing the mess behind a staircase with his pede.   
  
Optimus exvents quietly. There was another issue that needed to be addressed soon. They couldn’t keep him cooped up here for long. Fliers can’t be confined to small spaces, and Whirl spindly as he is, isn’t a compact mech. The base was already crowded before, and their new addition appeared content to take up as much space as possible.   
  
Taking a nanosec to prepare himself, Optimus pings Bee to join him in the main room. The young scout had been the only one to volunteer to watch over their guest, so he’d take the first shift. Hopefully this would work as a good evaluation of Whirl’s demeanor, though that was dependent on how much Whirl was willing to interact with his supervisors.   
  
Upon entering the room Bumblebee plants himself at his leader’s side, shadowing him as they near the rotormech. The blue mech continues stretching, ignoring their presence until he’s apparently satisfied with the limberness of his joints. When it becomes clear the mech had no plans of acknowledging them, Optimus begins to speak.   
  
“Whirl, this is Bumblebee our scout, he’ll be taking you to scan an Earth alt mode once our human liaison can locate something suitable for you.”   
  
Whirl’s optic flits between the two, his gaze lingering long enough on the yellow scout to make him squirm. Tapping a claw against the bottom of his helm, he hums a long drawn out note that raises in pitch, as if pretending to consider something distasteful.   
  
“Mmmmm, no.” The rotormech ends his humming with a blunt negative, jeering and short. ”That’d be a big ol’ downgrade. I like my current alt, it’s saucy.”   
  
Optimus fights the urge to rub his temples, beside him Bee gives a startled laugh. “Try to reconsider, Cybertronian alt modes will draw too much attention. We cannot let you travel outside the base with your current alt.”   
  
“Don’t worry about it, short stack.” Whirl bounces on the tips of his pedes, most definitely making sure to look down at the Prime as he does so. “I’m very stealthy. The sky is blue, I’m blue, it’s practically a done deal, no one will notice me.”   
  
He could already tell this conversation wasn’t going to bend in his favor, so he decides to switch tactics to appeal his point further. He figures he can depart some dearly needed information about their situation to the mech in the process. It’s a futile task.   
  
“In any matter, I have been informed that you are at least somewhat knowledgeable about this planet-“ At that Whirl utters a short chirp of _‘real Earth,’_ Optimus’s faceplate cuts a stern frown, though Whirl doesn’t cease in his hopping. “-considering you made references to human ‘pop-culture’ when you first encountered one of our charges. Thus, am I correct in assuming you know that humans are the dominant species on this planet?”   
  
It’s hard to tell if Whirl nods or if he’s just letting his helm follow the rest of his frame in its bouncing. For the sake of his dwindling patience Optimus takes it as confirmation.   
  
“On Earth we are guests, and the human government has afforded us their hospitality under the requirement that we adhere to the rules provided to us. That _includes_ hiding ourselves from the general population, and seeing fit to communicate with their liaison.” There’s a soft hiss of Whirl’s pistons as he goes for a higher jump, coming dangerously close to another monitor. _“Please stop that-“_ He doesn’t. Optimus warily lays a firm servo on Whirl’s shoulder, and Whirl pauses to give it an affronted blink. “The human you first met is one of our charges, our allies, our _friends_ . These charges are returning today, and it is prudent that you treat them with respect, and dignity. Intentionally harming any one of them will be met with dire consequences. Threatening behavior toward our allies will not be tolerated.”   
  
Whirl doesn’t give any inclination that he understood the severity of Optimus’s orders, simply plucking the autobot’s servo off his shoulder with a puff of air.   
  
“Check before you step, got it.” The rotormech responds, a dismissive wave of a claw perfectly conveying his thoughts on the matter. To his chagrin, Optimus realizes this is probably the best response he’d be getting out of the blue mech. It was a shame really, Whirl was displaying disconcertingly low levels of care toward other lifeforms so far. He could only hope the rotormech would warm up to the planet’s natives as the other autobots did. However, unlike the his team Whirl had already known of Earth and her people, so at best all he needed was some firsthand experience with the planet. The worst outcome would be that Whirl has reached his own conclusions about the humans, via whatever transmissions he must have picked up before he got here. The thought was sobering, that a mech like this, an empurata victim who no doubt faced much strife due to his condition would condemn himself to his biases-like others stereotyped him- instead of allowing himself to see the beauty, and potential of the world around him. Prime’s saddened dismay must have shown in his EM field, or his faceplate, because Whirl teeters back, disgruntled.   
  
Optimus steps away, allowing the clawed mech some much needed space.   
  
“I’ll let you two get acquainted,” Optimus inclines his helm to Bumblebee, who had been a silent observer throughout the exchange. The cyclops’s own helm swivels to meet the scout’s blue optics, quickly as if having forgotten him. Bee is very an amiable youngling, Optimus trusts that will work in his favor when dealing with Whirl. Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel as if he’s leaving his scout to the rotormech’s mercy. “I have faith that you’ll find Bumblebee to be fully equipped to answer any questions you may have, Whirl. If you have need of my presence I’ll be conferring with our medic in the medbay.”   
  
The Prime leaves the room, not quite hastily, but he certainly didn’t stroll, as he was none too keen to fall into another argument with Whirl. He had an inkling that the rotormech was fairly displeased by the pity that had leaked into his EM field. It was best to remove himself from the equation for now. 

* * *

  
Bulkhead had had some real _choice_ words about the mech they found yesterday. He had outright refused to be the first one to watch Whirl, opting to volunteer to help Arcee pick up the kids instead. Personally, Bee didn’t see what the fuss was about, sure the guy was pretty odd, and had no respect for authority, but he didn’t seem _bad_ per se. Beyond that Raf had been really disappointed the day they didn’t let the kids stick around to see Whirl when they first brought him in. Bee liked to think his charge had a knack for discerning good people from rotten apples. Or whatever that human saying was. Either way if Raf thought this mech was a good mech then so did Bee, he trusted his best friend’s judgement.   
  
Whirl was blinking at him now, appearing to have relaxed once Optimus exited the room.   
  
“‘Sup, Bugboy?”   
  
**“Hi!”** Being quite use to receiving insect related nicknames, the scout takes the moniker in stride. Bee was pleased by the opportunity to introduce Whirl to more of Earth. It was nice being considered the more experienced one for once. Most others underestimated him due to his age. Now with this new autobot he had the chance prove his expertise, and maybe get the feel of what being a mentor is like. He shifts his weight on his pedes, excited. **“Don’t worry about the alt mode change, I know it’s weird but Earth has plenty of stuff to choose from. We’ll find you something that suits you, and then it’s just a matter of getting use to it. Who knows, you might come to like it!”** ****  
  
“Is that so?”   
  
**“Yeah! By the way my charge, Raf, is really excited to meet you. Well, officially I mean.”** ****  
  
“Interesting. I see.”   
****  
**“I’ve never met an autobot that was a flier either so I get why he’s so interested,”** Bee gives his doorwings an idle flutter at the thought of flying. How lucky! His freedom was limited by his wheels, while this mech could simply take to the sky when roads ended. **“What division are you from? Raf thinks you were part of the aerialbots, is that right?”** ****  
  
Whirl brings a claw close to his optic and mimes squishing Bee’s helm. The scout buzzes curiously at the action, gaining no response from the blue mech. It dawns on him that he’s obviously not paying attention, and the scout finds himself doubting the other had listened to a single word he had been saying. Discouraged, Bumblebee finds himself struggling to continue the conversation.   
  
**“Uhm, flying always seemed pretty cool....”** The blue mech perks up when Bee finally trails off his sentence.   
  
“So, what’s your real name?” Bee stills, baffled, managing nothing but a questioning beep, before Whirl is barreling on with clicking claws. “I gotta say, it’s pretty weird for Prime to name younglings after dead mechs.”   
  
**“** **_Wha_ ** **\- I think you have me mistaken for someone else?”** Bee shakes his helm, jittery confusion mixed with morbid curiosity snaking through his plating. Who could Whirl possibly be talking about? **“I’m not named after anyone, especially not someone who’s been deactivated-“**   
  
His stare is so utterly blank, a complete lack of comprehension, just like before, he’s not listening and he’s not even trying to hide it. Bee shuts off his vocoder, shooting the mech a disgruntled glare.   
  
“You done?” Whirl cants his helm, giving the younger mech a once over that feels awfully like he’s being judged. For what, he isn’t sure. “ _Yeah_ , I deactivated my translator as soon as you started beeping. Thought it’d be funny, but you really took your sweet time shutting up.”   
  
An embarrassed heat builds up beneath his plating, his doorwings stiffen high on his back, and he clenches his servos into fists.   
  
**“That’s not funny!”** Sure he had proven himself to be rude, but that was just mean. He didn’t expect this sort of childish taunting from Whirl. Maybe this mentor idea was going to need some reworking, especially if Whirl actually had trouble with empathy. Bee sets his servos on his hips, trying for the same disapproving look he had seen Optimus employ before. **“Humans teach their offspring about what they call the golden rule: treat others the way you want to be treated. You wouldn’t like it if I acted like I couldn’t understand you, would you?”** ****  
  
“...What?”   
  
**_“Turn your translator back on!”_ **

* * *

  
It’s not long before Arcee and Bulkhead return to the base, their passengers in tow. With the entire team back on base it was declared time for a more formal introduction. They gather in the main area, and it feels a lot more crowded with the fifth cybertronian in the room. Optimus introduces the team with the same serious tone he imparted onto anything. He goes around the room, stating each of their respective designations, ranks, and official titles. When he finally turns to Ratchet, Whirl snaps to attention, the antenna on his helm twitching. He hadn’t so much as acknowledged any of the other mechs, _why him?_ Itching uncomfortably under the sudden attention the medic resolutely refuses to meet the other’s gaze, feeling the blue mech’s optic heavy upon his plating, waiting. Optimus notices the intense stare and seems to hesitate. “...this is Ratchet, our medic.”   
  
Whirl shutters his optic.   
  
“That was a wink,” He supplies, unprompted.   
  
From his side Bee looks up at Ratchet curiosity.   
**_::Is he flirting with you?::_ **   
  
_::No::_ He almost doesn’t think to reply to the comm, his processor rolling to a stop. Whirl had called him by his designation earlier, _before_ he had been introduced. The thought makes his plating crawl. A series of questions building at the front of his mind. How did he know? Who could have told Whirl his name? Why was he so intent on staring at him? Was it an intimidation tactic?   
  
Ratchet makes the mistake of making optic-contact with the rotormech. Across the room that gold optic dilates so wide it envelops the shadows of its socket.   
  
Ratchet cringes.   
  
Fowler, and the kids are introduced to Whirl without much fanfare. He doesn’t even seem to notice them until Fowler, who clearly has a bone to pick with the blue mech, starts on a tirade on the fragility of autobot and human relations. It’s a long speech that the autobots had all been on the receiving end of before, though now it was personalized to include the rotormech’s recent ‘jaunt’ around town, and why that was very bad. The agent finishes with an impassioned flourish of his hands, giving the new bot an expectant look.   
  
Whirl sorta just squints.   
  
**“I bet his translator is still off.”** Bee grumps, his charge patiently waiting his turn to talk to the new mech blinks in surprise. The other two children glance between the bot and his charge, for some sort of explanation.   
  
Optimus internally groans knowing the agent wouldn’t take well to being so flippantly ignored. “Whirl, you’ll need to activate your translator to understand the humans, until you download several of the planet’s common languages.”   
  
“Oh yeah, I forgot I turned that off, thought I was having a stroke.”   
  
As predicted Fowler is fairly insulted by the mech’s lack of respect. He rounds on the thirty-foot bot with clenched fists, his face red.   
  
“Pal, you and me are going to have problems if you keep up this too-cool-for-school act.” Optimus decides it was better to not point out Whirl likely didn’t know what that meant. “I’ve already had to clean up after your surprise drop in at Jasper, it’s like you have _zero_ idea of how to be discrete. I don’t know how you’re supposed to be an autobot, all I’ve seen from you so far is someone who’s irresponsible, dangerous, disrespectful, and just downright _irritating_ !”   
  
“You’re absolutely right!” Whirl agrees, cackling at the scowl that contorts the man’s face in response.   
  
The children share a laugh at Fowler’s expense, and Fowler fumes, settling his anger on the leader of the autobots. “ _This_ is the kind of bots you’re bringing to Earth?”   
  
As Optimus tries to defuse situation with the infuriated agent Whirl pads over to the other humans, looking down at them curiously. They take each other's features in, Whirl doing so with considerably less enthusiasm than the humans. He was after all, very unique in his frame-type, whilst humans didn’t really have the same capacity for variation as cybertronians.   
  
“You’re kinda cool looking,” Miko concludes, fixing the mech into the frame of her phone’s lenses to take several photos of him. He makes an odd sound akin to a snort, and turns his attention to Rafael who chances a smile at the lanky mech.   
  
“ _You_ ,” Whirl peers closer, gaining a wary whine from Bumblebee. “You were there when I splatted.”   
  
Raf furrows his brows, finding the mech’s word choice concerning. He nods nevertheless. Whatever Whirl is about to say next is interrupted by Miko curling over one of the railings, waving wildly to garner the mech’s attention. Raf frowns, unhappy about having the potential conversation stolen from him. There was only so many things he could talk about with Whirl, the autobots had made sure that the children understood he wasn’t quite stable yet. For the most part it made sense, like someone with PTSD they didn’t know what his triggers were, there was no need to cause him undue stress with invasive questions. Somethings though, they didn’t explain, like why they couldn’t ask about his claws or lack of a face. If the uncomfortable silence that followed when he had attempted to pry meant anything, it probably wasn’t good.   
  
Miko grins wide at the mech, a sly glint to her eyes. “I don’t believe you’re an autobot, _buuuuut_ I might reconsider if you give me a helicopter ride.”   
  
“No.” Bulkhead apparently disproves of the idea, plucking his charge away from the rotormech’s vicinity while she pouts.   
  
They ‘chat’ for awhile before Whirl grows bored of the humans, and wanders out of their range. It’s night by the time the kids are taken home, leaving Ratchet nearly alone with Whirl as his next ‘babysitter’. Fowler remains, awaiting a more serious meeting with their leader. 

* * *

  
Whirl perches on the walkway near the medic, stretching his frame down precariously to corner Ratchet against his terminal.   
  
“Oi, Doc-bot, dig the new frame, didn’t recognize you at first. You look great, like you’re not about to keel over of old age,” He presses closer uncaring of his invasion of the medic’s personal space, and continues speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “This planet _blows_ , when are we going back to the _Lost Light_ ?”   
  
“What are you ta-“   
  
Whirl drowns him out, raising his voice in such an exaggerated manner it can only come out as if he’s trying to ward off any eavesdroppers. In the most suspicious way possible.   
“Boy! I sure do love Earth, and it’s many little _squishable fleshies_ .”   
  
He fixes his unsettling optic on the only other unfortunate occupant of the room. Fowler shifts uncomfortably, passing Ratchet a confused glance before slinking back into the elevator. Apparently satisfied with that, Whirl pokes a claw against Ratchet’s chassis.   
  
“I figured you wouldn’t want to associate with me in front of these pansies,” It’s said casually enough, but like anything from Whirl’s vocoder, it doesn’t make sense. The blue mech glances about the room, as if expecting someone to barge in. “I’ll forgive you for avoiding me, _after_ you snag some energon sticks for me from Eyebrow’s office once we’re back on the ship.”   
  
Ratchet tries to get a word in, but Whirl just keeps on talking.   
  
“I did a lil sleuthing earlier, and it looks like the cruddy invention Brainstorm definitely said I could test didn’t make the trip.” Whirl shrugs, the motion tipping his frame further into Ratchet’s bubble. “My comm is busted, you’ll have to call up the ship. Make ‘em take a detour for us, well for _you_ , they’re probably happy I’m gone.”   
  
Mounting confusion spills over into spite. A sneer finds its home on the medic’s faceplate. He catches one of Whirl’s claws in his servo and shoves it away from himself, causing the other to have to steady himself so as to not tumble down from his perch.   
  
“I may be a doctor, but I am most definitely _not_ obligated to put up with your unhinged rambling,” Ratchet growls out, crossing his arms over his chassis. A flutter of his spark urges him to be silent, he ignores it. “Allow me to make this very clear, Whirl: I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere. Especially not with the likes of someone _like you_ . Nor will I be aiding you in whatever delusional plan you’ve concocted. You’re barely welcomed here as it is, we all know empurata singles out the worst of us.”   
  
_‘That isn’t true.’_ Whirl freezes. In that moment Ratchet knows instantly he just made a grave mistake. Shame grips his spark and he flounders for an appropriate apology. It’s much too late, the damage done starts a domino effect in Whirl’s frame.   
  
That golden optic narrows into a tiny fiery pinprick, and somehow that was more terrifying than the gun barrels humming beneath his cockpit. Like a switch had just been flipped his entire demeanor changes. Plating bristles in a quick flare that rolls over his protoform, leaving the rotormech looking disheveled and wild.   
  
_“What.”_ Low and unnerving like danger lurking behind the next corner. His slitted optic burns molten, and his previously blank EM field slams into Ratchet’s aggressively. The medibot chokes on air, flinching into the terminal which offers no protection. EM fields weren’t used often anymore, and especially not like this. Empurata victims weren’t even suppose to have non-static EM fields, Whirl had to be manufacturing his negative field on purpose. Claws sear inches away from the medibot’s abdominal plating, rending deep into the terminal below. The machine shuts off with a desperate hiss of static, and the medic wonders if he’ll meet his end in the same manner. Plating flared, the enraged rotormech crowds impossibly closer. “I don’t care if _you_ want to stay here, what matters is _I don’t_ . If you wanna abandon the crew that’s _whatever_ , but if you think I’m down to rust on this dumbaft planet because you want to go back to being Prime’s pet you’ve got another thing coming. And that _thing_ is my pede straight up your aft with all those pipes you’ve got stuffed there.”   
  
Ratchet swallows a great gulp of air that stutters in his vents wildly, his bright blue optics cycling wide.The rotormech watches.   
  
“Huh. I expected you to hit me by now.” Whirl taps a short rhythm into Ratchet’s chassis, acting as if they were having a friendly chat rather than some sort of rage induced confrontation. His nonchalance sets a cold burn through the medic’s lines. ”I just threatened you, where’s the wrench? Or does Prime have you on such a short leash you’re just going to sit there, and let _me_ tear you a new one?”   
  
Oh he certainly wants to retaliate, to shout, to push Whirl back, to get angry, to call for help, to do _something_ , but he’s frozen. That EM field smothers him, embroiled thick with bloodlust. _He’s scared._ Utterly so. It brings forth a surge of old memories from his rookie years. The horror then, at being discovered by decepticons while his frantic servos were buried deep in the greying chassis of his dying patient, that fervent terror had not been for his own wellbeing. After that he couldn’t fathom fearing for himself at the same level as he did for others. _But now...?_ An overwhelming sense of danger sees fit to drown him in its call, like the gnawing teeth of a steel trap awaiting the slightest breath to clamp down on his ridged form.   
  
It doesn’t appear to be the reaction Whirl wanted.   
  
Unexpectedly the rotormech withdraws. His plating shunts back onto his protoform in rapid clicks, and he shambles off the walkway disjointedly, as if distracted. Whirl pauses, large claws hanging limp at his sides, staring Ratchet down in the ebbing wake of his fury.   
Then he leaves. 

* * *

  
That didn’t go down like it should have.   
  
What was it about this planet that made everybody so weak?   
Himself included, because for whatever reason that look on Ratchet’s faceplate had made him feel _weird_ . He wouldn’t go so far as to call it guilty, but it was definitely...unpleasant. A far cry from the shirking glee he’d normally experience when garnering fear from others. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like it at all. 

* * *

  
  
In the darkness a hulking silver mech regards his favored subordinate in front of him. Recent events found him surveying a mass grave brought about a single mech on a rampage. The mine was a loss to be pitied, but the information gained here was enthralling.   
  
“So, Starscream wasn’t lying about the rogue autobot?” Red optics glitter with twisted delight.   
  
Upon a screen serving as a sleek mech’s face, a shaky cell phone video focuses on a mass of blue metal rising up from the ground, before taking to the sky. Sharp denta bare a serrated grin at the sight.   
  
“And a flier no less, how _interesting_ .”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a lighter note I am now the proud owner of 14 robots (Nearly half of them are just Soundwaves).


End file.
